


an angel, a star, and the hands of a deity

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Deaf Character, M/M, Unreliable Narrator, all extras are lesbians, also kylo likes hot chocolate because thats the one thing he inherited from his uncle, book title generator, comparing characters to angels who really shouldnt be compared to angels, deaf!hux, its happening guys, not really graphic just being cautious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the finalizer, destroyed by rebels; kylo is flung out onto the planet below, found bleeding to death in a field by hux.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi there!  
> some things about this fic:  
> -chapter one in its entirety!! yay!! ch2 im posting 6/9  
> -as i say in most of my fics about d/Deaf/hoh characters: i am hoh, but not profoundly in any measure, if you are and feel theres inaccuracies, i would appreciate feedback! thanks!  
> -*most importantly* i Really need a beta reader for the next chapters. esp the final one. if you like the fic so far and want to help out, please contact me via im on my tumblr (http://hohluke.tumblr.com), id be endlessly greatful.
> 
> thanks for reading all this!

                Nothing had ever felt this quiet in his entire life. From birth to whatever sort of death he was experiencing now, nothing could compare to this deafening silence, the dull roar of the wind shaping the gray grass for miles in every direction, like an ocean with no shores to crash on.  He stepped back, letting his legs crumble from underneath him, falling to the ground. His black hair was now caked in sweat and dirt and blood, plastered to his forehead in a putrid swath. His vision was blurry and dazed, his chest rising and falling in uneven huffs as he gasped at the painful clean air. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be without recycled oxygen, stale and miserable.

                He looked up. A sudden gale struck the grassland and revealed his broken body to the sky. He could see it now, the remains of the Finalizer, in all its flaming glory, falling from the heavens like a martyred angel. An Angel. He scoffed, but choked on the breath. How many people were unable to escape into ships? How many would die? Why did he live? Why did he-?

                The deft thud of feet, too used to the sound of their own boots clicking in long corridors, crushed the dry shrubs behind him. He did not look up, he could not look; every molecule in his body was ready to dissipate. There was a vague yell.

                “Is anyone there?”

                It was Hux.

                He closed his eyes, letting them sting under the weight of his eyelids, then let them slide open again. The sky was still gray, the massive ship still hung low in the sky; he had no intention of sitting up. He was all too ready to bleed to death in the dirt, watching the fireworks of the First Order send him off. The wind let up and the grass rose again.

                “This is the General Hux of the First Order, I said, is anyone there?”

                “I’m down here.” He groaned.

                Hux sounded on edge, “Did anyone- Did anyone survive?”

                “General, I’m down here.” He rose his good arm, still straining against worn muscles and layers of burnt clothing. Hux tripped back in surprise, landing with a smash. “Who-“ He stumbled forward, getting back on his feet, pulling the grass away, “Ren,”

                “Hux.”

                “I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but thank the stars you’re alive.”

                Kylo squinted. Hux sat square in front of the sun shimmering through the thick grizzled atmosphere. He was bruised and cut and burnt down to his undershirt and trousers, barefoot and pallid from blood loss. But the sun, it softened the edges, shown warmly about his ears, cheeks, crowning his hair. An angel. Kylo scoffed again.

                “Have you seen the others?” His frazzled appearance made way for his imposing voice. Kylo shook his head. “No, no, no. We must find them. There are others.”

                “We’re alone.” He said, simply.

                “What?”

                “We’re alone, General. Everyone’s dead.” His words plain, he looked onto the ship, dipping into the ground, flaming. It must be at least a thousand miles away, but it looked as close as a hundred. The utter size of the monolith was staggering, and even he, who had been aboard quite some time, still found the sight of it dizzying.

                Hux squinted, “No.”

                Kylo snapped, “I felt it. They died. Maybe one or two survived, but if so they’re gone- across the planet, the system- too far away.”

                “No.” He said again. Hux knelt down, his arms reaching out for some earth to grab. Kylo could not look away as a new expression he had never witnessed grew across the general’s face. It was dread and disgust and anger and fear, unadulterated fear. He almost wanted to laugh. So there was a reason the general kept his emotions locked up- he looked ugly as hell when terrified.

                The wind hit and Hux was nearly knocked over. He tried to get to his feet, fumbling in the powerful gust, but stumbled back to his knees. He was in frays and without his usual nerves.

                “General, listen to me, there’s no-“

                Hux’s eyes glanced up at Kylo, blank. The grass settled, rising above Hux. Kylo brushed it over.

                “Kylo-“ He strained, “Ky-lo.”

                “What is it?” He yelled, “Why are you-“

                “Stop-stop this! I demand you- I can’t-“

                “Can’t what?”

                Hux’s shoulders fell. Who was this person? His hair disheveled, his posture slumped, he barely held himself together, and lacking any ounce of composure the Hux from ten hours ago had. 

                He took a deep breath, a quick meditation, and squared up. One shoulder was higher than the other, he must had sustained injuries. “I had thought it was the wind.” Instead of being too loud, now that he was trying to regain his attitude, he was far too soft spoken, “I had thought,” He let himself go again, “I had thought it was the wind.”

                “The wind what, general?”

                “I can’t hear you.”

                “The wind what, Hux?” Kylo spoke up.

                “It was loud, ringing, do you remember when the Captain-?” He broke eye contact with Kylo. “She said there was roaring after her ship crashed but no one else-“

                “Are you alright?” The words were foreign. Hux and Kylo, they were on two separate pages of two different books. Neither knew what the other was saying, it was as if Kylo only knew the words to a dead language. Kylo looked at him, looked at his cuts and bruises again. What were they going to do?

                “I know you are not being pleasant, Ren, so kindly shut up.” Hux demanded, “We’ve got to get out of here.”

                “What are you saying?”

                Hux looked down, brows pulled in determination. He had made a plan, this was his chance to shake off the feeling of losing control. He pulled himself up and reached out a hand to Kylo. With a huff, Kylo was on his feet, weary and exhausted, limping like an old dog.

                “Do you see the horizon?”

                Kylo nodded.

                “You see the hills? There are none in any direction but-“ Hux checked where the sun was, “any direction but the east. I’d say there is a good chance they are not natural.” If Kylo squinted and believed, he could make out the estimated shapes of a town.

                “Chance of what?”

Hux looked up at Ren and nodded like he had made an excellent comment on Hux’s orienteering, then began the march, Kylo leaning on his for support from his mangled right leg. This was it, Kylo had figured it out. They did not talk for the rest of their sojourn. He wondered why he hadn’t understood sooner.

 

The edge of the city was dusty and full of cobbled adobe brick houses. The lavender gray clay rose from the earth it had been dug from, looking as natural as a tree whose birds had made tenant there. From the small streets led a diminutive center with far more modern apartments, all the glass shot and crumbled from the impact of several pieces of the Finalizer. Street to street, the town was empty, save for the cats that peered off of rooftops and behind alleys.

                With no one home, it was hard to find fault in smashing a lock and entering a decent house in the middle of the town. Up a flight of stairs and into a room Hux dragged Kylo, helping him lay down on a squat couch spilling throw pillows.

                Hux snapped the dial on the stove right, but was left with the clicking of broken gas. Kylo watched as he shuffled about, finding whatever the old owners had left before they fled their house. Several bottles of water, a type of MRE-like meal he only needed hot water to add to, and, finally, a box half full of old matchsticks. He threw Kylo a bottle of water, then began to make a fire over a large metal baking sheet. Crumpled receipts and a family photo, burnt away for the sake of a stranger’s dinner. He rested the small glass bowl next to the flames and heated the water before pulling the tab on the box and filling it. Steam and a high pitched whirring sound arose, and like magic- or something else-, a loaf of bread grew.

                “What is it?” Kylo asked as Hux set the tray on the floor by him, sitting down. Hux ripped off a chunk and ate it. It was dense and moist, but stale at the same time. He gagged.

                “Damn outer territories not using Basic.” He mumbled, trying to read what the side of the tray said. 

                “What, you can’t read it? I thought the general spoke sixteen languages.” Kylo mocked.

                Hux looked up, frowning. “How many languages do you speak?”

                Kylo flinched. He thought he had not heard him. How could he have?

                “Three.” He admitted. Basic, Shyriiwook, and scraps of droid. If he was honest with himself, he only knew enough Shyriiwook to ask directions somewhere, and he had not practiced translating droids for years now, everyone had done it for him. Even his Galactic Standard was dull by Order standards. He had a very _Old Republic_ accent, and although some thought it endearing, it was more of a curse than anything else. Hux had elaborated on multiple occasions upon how uneducated Kylo spoke, and how he was _the least eloquent of any damned recruit aboard,_ to which Kylo lit his lightsaber and pulled a control panel apart, leaving Hux ghastly pale.

                “Three?” Hux repeated. It was getting dark and the broken windows brought only slivers of dim orange light. “What did they teach you?”

                He lied, “Galactic Standard, Droid, and,” He thought, “Mando’a.”

                “Mando’a?” Hux crossed his arms, “Really? That’s rather interesting.”

                “I’m not an idiot.”

                Hux rolled his eyes and then stood, clearly not full from his scrap of bread. It didn’t matter, though, there was probably as much nutritional value in it as eating a drinking glass. He patted the sides of his ruined trousers and looked about. The stairs they had come up led to another floor, unlocked or blocked by a door. Kylo hated looking at Hux, his eyes scanning the building. He was beaten up and looked as if he had no intention of patching himself together. No cuts were as deep as Kylo’s, but it was aggravating to see him rubbing his hand over his knuckles, all worn down practically to the bone. Hux tilted his head to peer out the window by the kitchenette. “I believe we won’t have a chance at finding a ship that we can hit interstellar space with.” Hux said, loud, but with caution, like he knew he was too loud. His annunciation was slipping, and the wrong consonants were stressed, the vowels shortening and rounding as he tried to hold them back. “I’m sure you’ve come to that conclusion on your own, but if a mass exodus has occurred here, it’s hard to believe that the people would not have taken every resource.”

                “You’re giving up?” Kylo glared.

                “But we cannot give up.” He clasped his fist. He must have been commanding all his head officers in his head, his brow pulled down in ferocity. “However,” He said, looking back at the window, the moon rising steadily, “We shall start tomorrow, that is.”

                Hux waltzed over and sat in a lone recliner in the corner of the room. From the short couch, Kylo could see the general’s face, anxious and tired. He was always one to think of his men, even if was not outward about it. There was no doubt that he was feeling the weight of their deaths. If things had been different, if the resistance had not attacked the First Order that day with all of their strength, Hux would be sitting at his desk, pulling in a late night, reading through paperwork. Or maybe he would be in his room, allowing himself to settle back with a book. If Kylo had been an outsider looking through the window, he could have sworn that the figure on the chair, under the moon’s light, was a worn and old statue, lost in an overgrown garden, vines growing to conceal all but his eyes. Kylo blinked in and out. But his mind got the better of him, and he was pulled into sleep.

 

                …

                Kylo brushed the sleep out of his eyes. It was still early in the morning, and the room was just beginning to grow light. Under the window he saw Hux, unblinking, in the same position as he had been last night. In consciousness, he hissed, his good arm swinging to squeeze the other. The general shook his head, rousing himself from some deep thought, and saw Kylo writhing. With much effort, he took from his chair and grabbed a small bag from the kitchen counter.

                From inside, he pulled a small glass vial of alcohol and shook it, following with a small sewing kit. Like the bag was endless, he tugged from it several long white bed sheets torn into strips. Kylo knew what would happen. He, unable to move, let Hux rip off pieces of his shirt not dried to his wounds. “I was fifth of my class for survival med in the academy.” Hux said, wiping a needle dipped in alcohol on the cloth.

                Kylo huffed, “Only fifth, huh?” Under the light that peeked through the windows as the sun rose, Hux placed his hand over the particularly gnarled laceration, cutting from just under Kylo’s left breast, across his stomach, and ending right above his pantsline. Hux’s cold palm was revolting, and as the general squared himself to do something he was visibly disgusted by, Kylo wanted to kill him. But, as he thought about the idea, sending Hux flinging across the room to meet his death against a cement wall in an abandoned village, another thought occurred. He wanted to say it, he knew that whatever it was, it would not matter to Hux much, but he had to.

                “I’m glad you’re alive.”

                Hux brought his hand to the rag he was dampening with alcohol and stopped. He looked up.

                “I’m glad you’re alive.” Hux said.

                Unable to draw back, Kylo was confused, “I thought you couldn’t hear me.”

                He blinked. “Sorry?”

                “Shut the hell up.” Kylo’s head fell back into the old pillow. Hux mumbled something with anger, and pressed the damp cloth on his wound, making Kylo groan through his teeth. He just had a few more days, then they would be rescued by Order sympathizers, of course. Kylo was surprised to find Hux closing up the cut as he looked down. He wasn’t aware he had started.  He felt the far away prick of Hux going to the next cut, again painless. The gentle sting of pressure applied to wrap him in the homemade bandages could not bother him anymore. But the way Hux sat down afterwards, beads of sweat prickling at his temples, made Kylo feel something.

                “I’m going to walk around the square. Don’t exert yourself.” Hux stood and clapped his hands. He grabbed the bag and put the sewing kit on the kitchen counter across the room to worry about later, then washed his hands methodically, almost too clean. With his hand clasped around the door handle, he looked at Kylo- as if he had forgotten something- then left.

                It took less than half an hour for Hux to return, a small grin slipping from his lips. He had carried back with him a small box. Not only did he return with the package, he was in a different pair of clothing. And shoes. He said nothing of the new outfit, but when he saw Kylo staring at the box, he explained, “I found a hovercraft that seems to be in working condition. I pulled it near the house. The key,” the grin became a smile, unflattering and toothy, but genuine, “It’s here.”

                He sat on the edge of the couch by Ren, “Are you well enough to go?”

                Kylo thought, but he had nothing to say.

                “You might wonder why a hovercraft will do. As I was looking around in a garage shop, I found a newspaper.” He had never seen Hux as animated, unfolding a paper he had kept in his breastpocket, “There’s a much larger town to the east, the whole page was covered in directions, it’s a refugee sanctuary, I believe. And,” He looked at Kylo, “I have reason to believe we can make it before sundown.”

                “I hate riding.”

                “Then let’s go.” Hux nodded in determination. He helped Kylo up, using all his strength to keep him from tumbling down, and led him outdoors to the four seat hovercraft. He laid Kylo down in the back, face again towards the sky, as Hux climbed in the drivers and set the engine roaring. They sped out of the town, leaving in their wake a cloud of dust, headed away from the Finalizer, on its last moments in the sky.

                The crash itself had been going on for hours now, but the ship was so massive and absolute that it took all the time it needed to mutilate the face of the earth, decimating a good two hundred miles in every direction. People would die. Not just in the ship, but where it landed. Hux and Kylo were some of the few who were able to flee, but their respective shuttle had been hit with debris from the haul, flung to the planet below.

                The gentle hum of the hovercraft was intermitted by small bumps that threatened to reopen the cuts every time. Kylo groaned and yelped his fair share, and as the ship sputtered to a stop, maybe ten miles from the bigger town, he could feel every tiny creak in the engine. He tried to rise to look over and see what the problem was, but found himself unable to. “Why are we stopped?” He asked, grabbing the edge of the seat, trying to prop himself up again, successful this time.

                Hux bit down on his lip. The sun was setting. “Gas, damn it.” He hit the dashboard. Behind them, the sun was sloping down, unleashing reds and oranges across the darkening lavender sky. It was too beautiful, a snapshot of destruction covered in gorgeous colors and the evening sun’s rays. Kylo sat in front of the masterpiece, not daring to look where Hux was, crowned by the burning sky.

                “We’ll stop for now. Start walking in the morning.” He muttered, mostly to himself.

                “Hopefully I’ll bleed to death and you’ll get attacked by monsters before sunrise, so we won’t have to walk that far.” Kylo said, only half sarcastic.

                It was a confused and wrong look that Hux gave again. He was trying to pick up what Kylo had said, tasting the shapes he made on his mouth with his own, but could come to no conclusion. “We have to get into town.”

                “Why? What’s the point? They’ll recognize us, it’s not like the whole galaxy doesn’t know our faces. They’ll recognize us and kill us, Hux.” Kylo was almost yelling. He was ready to burst.

                “I know they’ll kill us.” Hux hissed. “I can see that. That’s an easy word to see.”

                Kylo opened his mouth in response, but said nothing.

                “There’s a chance they won’t, Ren, we’ve got to take that chance. Otherwise we’ll be living out in the grasslands until we’re killed or we kill each other.” Hux turned back towards the darkening sky. He was looking at his hands again, open palms towards him like he was waiting for the rain in a drought. “There was a transistor back in the other village, I’m sure. But I couldn’t find anything.” He gripped the steering handle, as if sheer willpower could make it move. Not for him. “But I can search for survivors in the next town.”

                “There won’t be any. If we were sent that far from the craft, they will have been sent farther in other directions.” Kylo knew Hux was not listening, could not be listening. “There’s no one left.”

                Hux shuddered.

                “I wish we could build a fire without setting the whole plane ablaze.” Hux said, numb.

                “Goodnight, Hux.”

                “Goodnight.” His head dropped, like he was praying. “Kylo.”

                …

                The next town was father than they had expected. The walk took from the crack of dawn to long after midday, and what they found was far from their imagination. The newspaper had blazoned that all who fled from the crash should go to this one, but the population was so small. “Anyone who had anything would leave for their nicer cousins east.” Hux had said. They were greeted nicely, however, a surprise for both of them, bracing for the worst. Where they had thought people would be celebrating what seemed like the end of the First Order, they found young women and children who were living their normal life. Many had been told only by word of mouth that sanctuary could be found in the east. This meant that Kylo was sought to by people who knew more about healing than Hux’s basic military knowledge, by some blessing.

                There was even water- though scarce, and soon they were clean- and with a handful of change Hux had snatched from a box under the storage in the last kitchen- Kylo bought a set of clothing. The old outfit was too bloody and torn to be considered anything but rags, and people were happy to sell the used and left over they found in the houses they hid in. Hux laughed when he saw Kylo, button up blue shirt, suspenders, and acceptable pants. He looked like some old-timey holofilm star cowboy. “All you need is a good hat and a cigarette,” he commented, “Maybe we can get you a bandana too.”

                Word was that the resistance would come back on a sweep to rescue citizens caught in the crossfire and relocate them to higher ground. Along every street, every corner, by the market and by the alleys, they were anonymous. No posters, no attacks, only a few strange looks. After Hux managed to bargain a two way transmitter, he got a very stern and questioning expression from the young woman who sold him it. “What’re you using it for?” She asked. Hux took a moment, trying to palpate the words.

                “My aunt, we’re calling my aunt. She lives north of here.”

                The woman nodded, still suspicious, “In Kifar?”

                “No, just a little farther, out in the bay.”

                She shook her head, “I don’t see why people want to live any farther north than Kifar, helluva winter, if you ask me.”

                Hux shrugged, only making out about half of the words, “She’s a nice woman. Strong.” He finally said.

                “Best of luck to you.”

                “Bye.”

                He ran out of the half-opened tent and found Kylo in the alley two doors down, sitting alone in the warmth of the sun, his back up against a wall. “Got a radio!” He pointed to the hunk of metal. “Do you know anything about fixing this?”

                “A little.” It wasn’t a lie. He actually had some interest in these kind of trinkets when he was younger. He could claim- without a doubt- that his earliest memory was fiddling around with his mother’s holocom while some other young kid was pointing at the lights that flashed on it. If he was honest, he probably knew more about the hunk of metals and soldering boards than most.

                They took it back to where they had been making camp. It had only been a few days now, but it had began to feel like some meager representation of a home. It was the second floor- right side- of an apartment out on the farther reaches of the central city. The left half of the level had no floor, and dropped straight down to the basement, where a pile of plaster, furniture, and wood had caved in on itself. The walls were sparse of decoration, only a few- mostly shattered- frames remained haniging, the only noticeable one with a picture of two handsome women and a young boy, all smiling brightly. The woman on the right had a hand overtop her stomach, and the other wrapped around her wife, squishing the child in between. Hux found this frst, Kylo only noticing when he noticed Hux staring.

                “Do you,” Hux said, “Have any regrets, Ren?”

                He didn’t say anything.

                Hux ran a hand over his face, turned on his heels, and then left the hallway.

               

A few hours of tinkering and they had made contact. It was faint and crackling- more static than words- but Kylo was sure that it was not just feedback. He hit the top of the metal box with his fist, somehow shaking it up enough for something to fall into place. The frequency buzzed in and out, loud and then soft, but the words were distinct. “It sounds like…” Kylo leaned in, “I think it’s the rebels.”

                “Rebels?” Hux asked. Kylo nodded. “Shit.”

                Kylo went in with his makeshift knife/screwdriver combination, pulling the loose pieces together. There was a short fanfare, then a commanding of people from a Black Squadron, rattling off terrestrial coordinates and names of sites hit hard by the wreckage. Kifar, the one to the north, Tolfar, the city they were in, both were mentioned as places to swing into and check the damage of. It sounded like the squadrons were descending on the main stretch of grassland by the wreck, and then beginning their eastern bound sweep of the area. Only a few hours remained until rebels would be walking through the city with their blasters ready.

                Hux swallowed down all his emotions when he saw Kylo speak of their endgame. He did not, he _could not_ be captured while in disarray. They had to either not be caught, or go down kicking. Together, by where the kitchen might have been before the Order induced earthquake struck, they sat in silence. Somehow, neither of them could find any words to say. Kylo thought, tried to formulate words, but the air was so thick and dusty and nothing he could possibly vomit would be of any use now. The radio lit up again; they were both alone.

                _“Hello, everybody! My name’s Poe Dameron!”_ The voice was ecstatic over the static, _“I’m with the Resistance, we’re here to help in any way you need. We are transporting non-order victims of the crash to Tolfar right now, and are bringing plenty of supplies. Rejoice! The war is over!”_

Faint cheers sounded from out the broken windows. The only places with radios were the bars, the pubs, where anyone who wanted the news had been patiently waiting. This rescue had been expected, no doubt. People clapped and ran out into the streets. Kylo could hear someone with a trumpet, a fiddle, a guitar. Several girls and boys began singing and stomping to the music. Kylo could hear the cries and screams of joy as the news spread, babies wailing and mothers dancing and the wind blowing into their room, carrying all this. Hux looked at Kylo for the source of the vibrating floor.

                “They’re here.” He said. The room was so quiet compared to the bustling below. “They’re here.” He said again, his voice tense and _tired,_ “Do you understand me? They’re here.”

                “Yes.” Hux could read that.

                The anxiety was tangible, a ticking time bomb lodged at the base of their throats. The snap of x-wings zipping over head was more frightening than any battle scene, any gore from a duel, any human, idea, machine, or otherwise. The laughter and happy crying felt like a death sentence. Where they wanted so bad to throw their heads back and laugh, they were hiding in an abandoned home, both too afraid to say they were trembling in fear. Kylo nodded when he could hear the approach of soldiers, Hux stood up. He paced to the far wall and halted. Somewhere in his mind, Kylo reached out to ask what he was doing, but realized it fast enough: Hux was fixing his hair.

                Something about the vanity of grooming his hair before he would be shot in it was hilarious. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Kylo could not stop himself from falling back in laughter, some ill pantomime of the cheers in the street. He ceased his outburst when Hux turned to look at Kylo again. “Do you think,” he began, in a tentative voice, “In another time, we…” Hux shook his head and faced the wall again. From the corner of his eye he could see the picture of the two women and their son. “Nevermind.”

                “I-“  He took a breath, acting as if someone was pushing him to say the words, although he was turned away from Kylo, forcing him to not speak, to distance themselves from each other, “Do you think we could have been like them?” He bit his lip, “We could have celebrated with them, don’t you think? Imagine feeling that much joy.”

                The shake of x-wings lowering and the people getting closer felt as large as if the earth was opening up before them. Hux turned with a dignified mask. He nodded at Kylo, “To be honest, I never liked you much. But if we were different people, at least in different positions, I could have grown to like you as I do now, much sooner.”

                Kylo’s mouth was shut close. Hux could not hear what he had to say, and Kylo was not much of a speaker, if he was allowed to be silent. But this soliloquy was hideous, as it meant only one thing: both of them were- with absolute certainty- about to die.

                He rocked to his feet and was met by Hux, folding their hands together. There were three knocks at the door, all louder in succession. There was the hit of footsteps up the stairs, meeting the wooden floors, into the hallway, and out into the room with the Order scum. Hux swallowed. There was yelling, but neither could make out the words, and blasters coruscated. The noise, static and violent, blinded Kylo momentarily, only to open his eyes to the sight of Hux falling limp to the floor, his eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar. Through the window behind them, light filtered in and onto his body, glistening off of the ten smoking gunshots along his chest. Hux’s head rolled over onto Kylo’s boot, blood and other dripping onto the floor. Kylo howled as he was pulled off by his body, the wounds on his chest ripping open as he was thrown into the arms of the rebels. He screeched again before being hit with a blaster and stunned unconscious.

               


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Kylo’s teeth mashed together. “Are you going to bury him?” He finally managed to say._
> 
> _The General Organa was never one to dance around the painful. But Kylo could feel something unusual in her presence._
> 
> _“You mean the First Order general who was with you.” It was not a question. Kylo nodded. It took her awhile to make an answer, a stabbing reminder that this- all the sadness Leia presented- was as a direct result of Kylo’s decisions. “His body-“ His stomach turned, “Has been brought to the base.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so far on schedule! yay! heres some stuff for you! promise hux is in the next chapter just u wait. kinda posting this rn instead of tomorrow so ppl dont get tricked into thinking this was a one shot and know im posting this every few days..... anyways  
> thanks for reading my guys

                Claws extended- he reached for the sky. Gasping for air, letting it rip through his throat in a violent cry, he scraped at the walls. The sound of bone gnashing on metal and the tearing of flesh melted as he began to wake. The four walls receded in to the earth, and Kylo’s eyes flicked open.

                He was in more or less of a jail cell. It was cold and gray, the bed hard, but the window at the end of the small room was unbarred. Underneath the pane was a sturdy little desk, colorless like the rest of the room. Kylo stood up and took three steps to the table. It appeared to be just before morning, from what he could tell by the light. In the dim cringe of dawn, the courtyard behind his room stretched long and grassy, with a stone path in the middle; roses, birds of paradise, and other bright flowers crawled along the perimeter, morning glories spreading out along the walls. Why was he not dead?

                The thought caught him suddenly, he was surely alive, he felt fine- better than fine. Had he not thought about it, there was no indication that Kylo had been in a massive star ship crash. He felt his stomach, only the faint lines of healing scars traced him. If the resistance had cured Kylo of the lacerations, they could have easily aided Hux-

                Hux.

                Kylo felt ill. Something like regret burned in his throat. That or bile. No matter, he swallowed it down and let himself stumble to the bed. He was dead. Gone. The only image Kylo could conjure was that of the general lying in a heap at his feet, sticky crimson pooling underneath his boots. Reflexively, he lifted his foot, only to find that he was not wearing shoes, and- in fact- was in an entirely different outfit.

                The thought of fashion was halted with a loud knock at his door. Kylo tried to make a sound similar to “come in”, but his mouth was too dry. Two guards and a woman in smart dress clicked in. “The General, Organa, has come to speak with the prisoner, Ben Solo.” The soldier on the right announced. Kylo glared at her for the unnecessary comment.

                “Thank you, Bower, that will be all.” General Organa nodded.

                “But, General-“

                “That is all, Bower.” Her voice was stern.

                “Of course, excuse us.” She and her officer left, not daring to look back.

                Leia could not say anything. She looked at Kylo, taking in how he had grown since she had last seen him. Kylo, too, could not believe how she had aged. She looked not hardened by pain, but tired. He had the sudden idea of inviting her to sit down.

                She looked as if she was choking down something bitter. “Ben.”

                There was nothing left in Kylo to refuse that name.

                “It’s been along time.” She said, barely over a whisper. Her graying hair was pulled into a tight braided bun. It was so simple for her. Her clothing, too, was plain- a white blouse with a vest pulled over, leather boots. He could not help but wonder how long she had been dressing like this; when did she fall out of her extravagant up dos and stylish work wear?

                “I’m glad you’re alive.” Her voice was tentative, bordering on maternal, but not ready yet.

                Kylo’s teeth mashed together. “Are you going to bury him?” He finally managed to say.

                The General Organa was never one to dance around the painful. But Kylo could feel something unusual in her presence. “You mean the First Order general who was with you.” It was not a question. Kylo nodded. It took her awhile to make an answer, a stabbing reminder that this- all the sadness Leia presented- was as a direct result of Kylo’s decisions. “His body-“ His stomach turned, “Has been brought to the base.”

                “When can I see him.”

                “You can’t.” Leia was stony. There was no arguing. “Why don’t we talk about something else?”

                Kylo made no response.

                “You’re to go to trial in a few days. I believe the jury will vote in favor of rehabilitation. They could not find much to indict you with, and I have-“ She shook her head, “No matter-  you seemed to keep out of most of the Order’s problems.” She sighed, pressing down her vest. Her voice had softened, “Aren’t you happy?”

                He flashed an ugly look at her, but still gave no answer.

                “You have nothing to say to me, then. I’ll leave.” She turned to exit, hand outstretched for the door.

                “At least let me visit once you’ve buried him.”

                Leia looked at her son. “I’ll do what I can.”

                She left.

                The taste that was left in Kylo’s mouth was revolting. He wanted to destroy something, feel the glass window shatter as it connected with his fist, he needed something physical to align himself back to the ground. She said that he would be- most likely- allowed to live, but how much did he really want that? He could not bear to walk around _pitied._ Hated, that was nothing, feared, perfect for how he wanted to conduct his life, but pitied? Seen as a project? He would starve to death rather than meet that fate. This fate.

                He wondered if Hux’s parents were still alive. If they would miss him. Did he have anyone in this galaxy that would feel for him? Even the Captain Phasma, who Kylo observed was on good terms (even such a mild acquaintance was unusual) with the general was most likely dead. Or worse. Was it possible anyone who survived would have been executed by the resistance? They claimed they were humane and just, but there was no doubt they had orders to shoot to kill any stragglers of Order background.

                Morning had come and striking light filled the room, spilling over the desk, the cement floor, onto the hard bed. With the atmosphere so often heavy and overcast on the previous planet, this sun was harsh and new. His skin ached and his head burned with thoughts that could not be formulated into questions or answers. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth, to decompose and be eaten away by the birds. Kylo dragged his hand over his healed wounds again. What if they had taken out something from him while they fixed him.

                The rip of x-wings made him flinch.

                …

                With the second day mounting over the courtyard, Kylo’s legs felt stiff and his joints numb. Without much room to walk in, no books or pens and paper to amuse himself with, he had taken to sitting at the desk, staring through the window into the garden. He decided that he would rather his muscles atrophy than to pace the perimeter of his room like a caged animal. It was not all bad, either. The more Kylo looked into the beds of plants, the more he saw was moving. The bees were padding around flowers, ants crawling up stalks of sunflowers, the tiniest of breezes swaying the brush, a thousand pictures within a picture. He hardly noticed the fleets of orange suits run by.

                However, he caught the glance of two strangers he knew enough about. The shorter one was clad in rebel orange, the slightly taller in a leather jacket. The pilot dashed after a quick peck on the cheek. He had somewhere to be. Kylo felt some kind of emotion lodge in his throat, maybe fear. He bit hard on his lip and winced, a tinge of copper bubbling like a font.

                “Ben Solo.”

                He turned. The door had been opened, and in the dull glow of light a figure stood. The silhouette was lined with shimmering white, and, as he stepped into the room, he emerged just as heavenly as his voice rung.

                “You might remember me.” He said, an easy smile on his lips. “My name is Poe Dameron.”

                Poe was alone, and was aggravating in how comfortable he seemed in his enemy’s cell. He closed the door and sat down on Kylo’s bed. “I hope you don’t mind if I take a seat.”

                “Not at all.”

                He nodded, “That’s good.” Poe stopped, “Ah- I almost forgot!” He reached into his breat pocket and retrieved a small package. “Someone said you enjoy hot chocolate. I can call for some milk if you’d like.”

                Kylo looked at the small box, some foreign, but vaguely related to Basic, language was scrawled in an old font. Leia must have told Poe, for Kylo had not had hot chocolate since before he left to train in the wilderness. It was some commodity that he did not have time for, and had since forgotten his fondness of. “I don’t need that.”

                “Oh, Ben, no one _needs_ hot chocolate. You need a lung, not a cup of smuggled cocoa.” Poe shook the package. Kylo looked at him. Smuggled? The thought disgusted him. He shook his head and Poe nodded, “Here, I’ll just leave it with you.”

                “What are you here for?” Kylo snapped.

                Poe gave another curt nod, “We need you to write a document of everything you experienced in the First Order. Joining, members, operations, anything and everything. Ben, Leave no detail out.”

                “Don’t call me that,” Kylo sneered. Poe nodded in compliance. “You want me to rat out every person I’ve ever met in the Order?”

                “Of course.” It was simple. Write ten years of his history in excruciating detail so that the makeshift court of the Resistance could scrutinize it. Of course. “Look, Kylo-“ not Ben, “I know that’s a lot to ask of you, and you’ve gone through a lot-“

                “Don’t try to sympathize with me.” Kylo pushed out his chair and stood up. “I cannot write my whole life’s story. Give me the means and I’ll write what I know.”

                Poe stood up too. “Good, I’m glad you’re being rational. I know the General told you that you’re likely to not be sent to,” Poe hesitated, “to not be executed, but I want you to hear from me as well that I think you’re safe.”

                “But I have a request.”

                He let Kylo speak.

                “I must see the man who I was detained with.”

                “Kylo-“

                “I want to see his body.”

                “I don’t think that’s-“

                “I will not comply with any measure the Resistance wants to take unless I am given this.”

                “I know you think it’s not a big request, but, you gotta understand-“

                “Dameron.”

                Poe locked eyes with Kylo.

                “I’ll see what I can do.”

                “Say it.”

                Poe shook his head, “You’ll get to see the Order general you were detained with. I promise. But for now you need to write.”

                Kylo almost thanked him. Poe tapped a button on his wrist watched and called out a series of numbers. He gave a small wave and stepped out. Kylo heard the distant whir of a droid, then saw it as it bumped through the door with a glass of hot milk, a spoon, a notebook, and a pen. He uncapped the pen and found it to be a fine felt tip, the spoon plastic. Even the glass was some dull rubber, the notebook paper bound. Although Poe treated him amicably, the Resistance had no ounce of trust in him. But he took to making the cocoa regardless. It was warm and rich, if only for the fact that Kylo had not had a real glass of milk in years.

…

                A week passed. He had not so much as walked outside to feel the warmth of the yellow sun on his face, and he felt anxious and irritated. Poe had not returned, and Leia only came in twice, once to try and talk out of him what he had been writing, another to promise at least a half hour to walk in the garden. Both times he had said nothing. It was not him defying her or resisting any feeling he had to communicate with her, but he found it hard to find things to say. His anger had solidified into a stone between his lungs, making it difficult to breathe, to walk, to talk, to do anything besides sit and continue his small auto biography.

                The story was written in his messy print, never caring much for punctuation or capitalization. Kylo knew he was spelling things wrong left and right, but he was not much of a reader, and his vocabulary was small regardless. It was all true, he found, and was written in a stream of thought, hoping from one idea to the next, occasionally going on ridiculous tangents that he knew the Resistance had little use of (the food aboard the Finalizer smelled of this girl he knew while training. It was not particularly pleasant, but not bad. She was dead now. Did her family miss her? Do they still miss her? She lived on a nearby planet where Kylo had once gone with his father for a day. He stole some flowers out of a vase from a restaurant. They smelled so good, much better than that girl. But he felt bad. Why did he feel bad?). But it was all there, all that he could remember up until two weeks ago, when the rebels attacked.

                There was no frenzy, no rush, no screaming or crying, the First Order was guaranteed to win this. It was sheer luck the resistance had shot them down, Kylo wrote. He paused. Luck. Was it really luck that caused this? Was it really some off chance that this had happened? He knew nothing of the intel the resistance had on the Order, although they could not have had much. Anything of the making of the ship was heavily guarded, and a mole was highly unlikely.

                Maybe it was fate?

                Had it been fate that caused their downfall? Every chance to take down the Light had been a failure. It was not meant to be. It ended with ruinous disasters and massacres and men falling from the heavens to the cold earth below, only to die, as a human, among his brothers. Only to die, by a firing squad, in the shadows of an abandoned building, hand in hand with another human he knew nothing of.

                Kylo looked out the window from the desk. It was almost evening, and the afternoon light was heavy and dreamy against the white stucco.

                A soft rap of knuckles on his door, and the pilot, Poe, had entered the room. Kylo kept writing, allowing Poe to shut the door and sit on his bed, stretching out and waiting for someone to speak. Without the sound of his pen, the room was still and glowing a summer orange.

                “So, Kylo.” Poe was respectful with names, “How are you doing?”

                The pen came to a halt. He could not write and speak at the same time. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, before turning to face the man. Poe was retying his boots up, no longer in his flying jumpsuit, but a jacket and black jeans. He looked relaxed and comfortable, Kylo almost wished they could talk in a manner other than this.

                He gave an accusatory glance, “As well as I can.” Poe smiled, and Kylo made a sick grin, “How are you?”

                “I’m doing well, well. There’s going to be a wedding here, two other pilots, very sweet ladies.” Kylo remembered the portrait Hux had felt attached to, “Word of the war has been spread to most of the galaxy, a lot of our people are returning. Only a few small Order settlements are being decentralized right now, but that should be quick and painless. The full moon was last night, and the tomatoes here are just almost ripe,” How nice of him to be reminding Kylo of the moon and tomatoes. A wedding after a war. He wanted to feel mad at Poe for reminding him the Order had lost, but Kylo had never felt aligned with the Order, it was just a means to an end.

                “Sounds like the world is falling back into place.” Kylo said.

                “Yes, it is.” Poe was handsome. He looked tired and weary, but not worn by the efforts. Instead, he had this grin like everything was alright, always. He smiled like the galaxy could not only _be_ changed, but that it _would_ change, and he had a hand in it. And he did; the best pilot in the galaxy, a humble and friendly man with a name that felt like violets blooming and June gloom that rose to a warm afternoon, Poe Dameron was radical in the proverbial sense. “I can’t wait.”

                “For what?” He was easy to get wrapped into.

                “Tomorrow, we’ve made arrangements. You get to go outside.”

                Kylo sighed, heaving off a weight on his shoulders, Atlas leaving the world behind. He closed his eyes in a prayer faithless and ardent all together.

                “Thank you.”

                “Of course, it’s the least I could do.” Poe stood up, clasping his jacket and nodding a farewell. “And Kylo,” He said before he left the door, “You might see him soon.”

                The door slid shut and the sky had been pulled into night once more.

…

                Kylo felt like he had been stabbed anew. The air was fierce and cold and felt like he was breathing glass shards, compared to the clouds of dust within his room. But heavens, it was amazing. The slow roll of grassy hills covered all sides of the base, wildflowers and animals and insects and the whole world was growing and _alive._ And Poe, Poe Dameron, was showing him it. Kylo had been told by guards he would be touring the confined gardens, but with some manner of slyness, Poe had managed to squirm out of the guards control and got them to the border of the camp.

                Poe talked about the wildlife when Kylo noticed three deer, he talked about the architecture when he noticed Kylo was staring at the buildings, topped off an anecdote about finding the planet when Kylo saw the moon, still quite round. There was not much Kylo wanted to say, although he had every question in the world, and Poe knew that, so he worked around it. For someone Kylo had personally tortured, Poe was sure good hearted about it. It felt like there was nothing between them, no resentment (save for Kylo’s distrust of him, slowly waning, just like the moon). It was good, and relaxing.

                “Why did you do this?” Kylo asked, finally, as they stepped over some stones to cross a creek.

                Poe didn’t feign understanding, “Listen, I still haven’t forgotten what happened on your ship. I think it’s vile. My friends would shoot you without a second to hesitate. And I don’t know if I would stop them.” He took a breath, “The reason is simple, I hate seeing the General Organa like this. If you’re happy, she’s happy.”

                Kylo laughed.

                “She cares about you.”

                They kept walking. Poe had confessed that he would like to see the end of Kylo, as long as it would not hurt his mother’s feelings. What a pleasant way to admit hatred. The woods they had trailed into were thick and cool, the path not yet trodden down, but Poe knew his way. His boots fell into the perfect spots, cushioned by the leaves and bark decomposing on the ground. Birds twittered above and the clacking of a woodpecker cut any silence left in half.

                “When can I see him?” Kylo asked. Poe kept walking, not missing a beat, Kylo’s once imposing step now blind and waiting. “You said I could.”

                “Yes,” Poe replied, “I did. And I intend to see that through.”

                “But you can’t,” Kylo finished, “Can you.”

                “No. Not quite.” They came to a stop, a small clearing that rose with tall grass. An elk stood at the other side, watching them. “There’s an arrangement going on.” Poe looked at Kylo, not inspecting him, judging, but just looking, holding some sort of tone in the air. “I think General Organa would like it to be arranged, but there’s some complications.”

                “Why?” A month ago Kylo would have been seething at this news, but now, now he felt nothing, “Is it that difficult to let me see a dead man?”

                Poe swallowed, letting go of what he was holding between them, “Well, that’s just it.” He looked out at the elk, who had given up its perception of the two, “Your general is-“ He looked back up at Kylo, “General Hux is not dead.”

                He gave Kylo a minute to process, but by the time the words hit him in the head, he had already connected all the pieces. “Not dead.” He mouthed. Leia was shifty, Poe absent, no definite answers, nothing. “Not dead.” He said. It was true, wasn’t it. But suddenly he saw the bloodied hair and Kylo was looking at Hux’s neck bending too far and the look of shock that had struck his eyes, wide open. There was brain matter and gore and maybe Kylo was imagining it, hopefully, but he couldn’t get the image out of his eyes, he stepped back and fell into the tall grass, Poe kneeling down beside him. “Why didn’t you-?”

                Poe nodded. He nodded. He nodded so much. The world was spinning and Kylo felt like vomiting.  “He’s alive.” Poe said it again, like Kylo needed the reassurance, “The General thought this was the best way.”

                _The best way._

                “He refused to speak for the first week. They figured out he was deaf. No one knew they allowed deaf people to join the Order- that was a shock.”

                “Shut the hell up.”

                “Kylo,” Poe put his hand on Kylo’s knee, “You’ll see him soon.”

                The walk back was quiet, neither tried to say anything. Poe gave an exhausted smile before leaving Kylo, letting the guards lock the door, then yell at him, the noise seeping through the wall. But Hux was alive, even if Poe Dameron was being disciplined, and there was a chance Kylo could see him. For some reason unknowable to Kylo, he felt a glimmer of hope. It burned like a white iron to his flesh, but the branding was freeing. He had no time to worry about the arrangement of actually getting a time to visit, or how restricted he would be in what he said, what he wanted to say. Instead, he fell asleep. It was hard and sleepless and long, a break from the more than thirty eight hours he had spent awake. He fell asleep and let himself rest himself, to truly rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter one, lol sorry for ending all the chapters w him sleeping im such a #talented writer

                It was without uncertainty that the cell would be heavily guarded. The walk through the several long detention corridors was dim and filled with stern faces, each with their eyes locked ahead of them. It felt like all the oxygen had left the hallways, and the guards were holding their breath as Poe lead Kylo and three others in body armor to the end. What small shafts of windows left un-cemented were barred in three rows, and all doors had locks upon keypads upon locks again, foreboding and growing in troubling numbers as the room names dropped. Poe was whispering something under his breath, a number, maybe a time, maybe the room.

                They made one last turn and approached the safe of a cell. Poe gave a quick hand gesture towards the resistance members behind Kylo and began the process of unlocking the door. The door groaned as he pried it open, allowing Kylo to go in first. If the situation had been different, he might have made a joke about using the force to open it in a split second. But Poe, stone faced and climbing up to the next, far less secured door, did not seem in the mood for joking.

                There was a blast of cold air, refrigerated and stale, and the strike of fluorescent lights, Kylo blinked and saw Poe hold back their guests. “Go.” He told Kylo.

                He did not have to tell Kylo twice.

                For the intense security outside the room, they had left Hux with only one woman, still as a statue, watching from the far corner of the interrogation styled room. There was no cot, no desk, no window with a view upon a nice garden, just the cement walls and a metal table sanded down on the edges. Kylo could not make eye contact with Hux, he was stuck on his hands, mangled and marred, clasped in his usual fashion, but locked down on the table. A muscle under his thumb was seizing.

                Kylo tried to pull the chair across from Hux, but found it bolted to the ground. He slid in between it and table with discomfort.

                “Ten minutes.” He looked up at the woman, her eyes harsh.

                “Ten minutes.” He repeated.

                “So you finally come.” Hux mumbled, words uneven and jarred. “Took you long enough.” Hux was glaring at Kylo, even if Kylo could not see him, his eyes burned. “Stop looking at my hands.” He snapped.

                Kylo met his scowl, still dignified and cruel beaten to a ghost. He realized then how different they had been living. Hux’s eyes were sunken and cold, his skin pallid and tacky. His hair was disgusting and greased, falling from his forehead down into his eyes. It must have killed him not to move his hands to fix it. He looked like a corpse- maybe he really was dead. Just under his collar was a blooming bruise, ugly and yellow, like a plague.

                He didn’t know what to say, what to do. What could he have possibly done to reprimand what the resistance had done? “Just say something, asshole!” Hux hissed, slurring words. “Say something.”

                Kylo’s hand rose, detached from his body, and placed itself below Hux’s cheek. Had not Kylo felt it, no one could have seen the slight lean unto his hand which Hux let himself fall into. “The resistance pilot said they’re not going to kill you.”

                He nodded.

                “I told him I didn’t care.”

                Kylo nodded again.

                “The other rebels told me you did not want to see me.” Hux flinched, pulling his head away. Kylo felt a flicker of anger. “But him, he said you were told I was dead.”

                He was aware of his right leg, the boot, the head fallen on it. Kylo felt dizzy.

                “I’m going to be executed in three days.” Hux found Kylo’s eyes again. His hands, slowly, turned against the metal, palms open. Kylo took them. He swallowed back the faint repulse he had holding his bent hands. How sick. He looked up at the lady, still staring at them, disgust and madness swelling up in this throat like bile. How dare they. _How dare they._ Destroying his only means of two way communication? How was he supposed to write like this? The lady smirked. Kylo’s grip must have increased with his rage, but Hux either couldn’t feel it anymore or didn’t care.

                “No.” Kylo said to Hux.

                “No?” Hux repeated.

                He shook his head, “No. That will not happen.”

                “Look, there’s no options here.” Hux did not piece Kylo’s thought together, “I’d rather die now than waste my life away in their storage closet.”  

                “They can’t kill you. They cannot.”

                Suddenly, Kylo became hyperaware of the camera in the corner of the room. It was small and only attached by some cables and a plate of metal. No doubt the other guards and Poe were watching this. A thought came to him.

                “If you’re thinking about using your magic powers to shut the camera off you must stop right there.” Hux caught him. “You are digging your own grave.”

              “I could-“ Kylo began. _The force._ How had he missed this? He could have, from the beginning, he could have _known!_

                Hux’s eyes went blank, glazed over with stress as Kylo stared intently. He could feel boots in his ribs, blood on his lips, the acute pain in his hands. He released. Hux slumped forward, a violent shudder running through his back. Hux let go of Kylo’s hands as the woman in the corner yelled something about a minute left.

                “D-don’t do- don’t _fucking_ do that.” Hux choked, still limp on the cold table. His shoulders had atrophied and collapsed in like he was shrinking away.

                Kylo felt revolted. He could not even form the words he meant to say. The shivering boy bent into a hunch became smaller in his vision, almost disappearing completely as he backed out, before Kylo realized he was being dragged with every inch of the guards strength, out of the room. He thrashed and writhed against them like a rabid dog, not noticing Poe watching with wide eyes, terrified for his comrade’s lives.

               They stumbled out of the room, Kylo screaming violently. Suddenly, the guard on his right shot out into the hallway, her body smashing against the wall, barely missing Poe. Her body cracked. She screamed wildly, a bolt of lightning hitting a metal rod.

 Kylo woke up.

The other guard slammed up into the ceiling, neck snapping in rhythm as Kylo dragged his own body out of the building, feeling like a ghost possessing a dead animal. It felt as if he was walking on air, he crunched the metal doors that stood before him, whipped the droids through the windows, the sound of shattering glass a brilliant cacophony of chaos, accompanied by distant cries and the wailing of alarms. His bare feet tread over the debris of his ruin, leaving a trail of blood, along with the bodies in his wake. There was nothing that could stop him, no human, no other, nothing. He forgot about the promise, that he would be freed, it did not matter. The reward of seeing his enemy’s base clambering to stop one man was enough for him.

He had no idea where he was going, but felt as if it was the right place. The security had doubled, and the sound of gunfire clattered into his head. He got hit, once, twice, piercing his old wounds and making him screech as he ripped open the floor to the sides of him. The doors in front of him opened on their own.

It was empty. His heart was still racing with adrenaline and something else, his footsteps leaving indented marks in the cement floor. The control room, a large, holographic map in the center of the room of the galaxy, rows and rows of technical work crackled with electricity and split as Kylo paced through the room.

“Kylo.”

He turned.

Poe’s eyes were wide and determined. His hands and shirt were bloodied and stained. His hands were shaking as he raised a blaster, and without a second thought, his index finger curled, and Kylo was on the floor. Poe ran over and turned to the door behind him, to see if anyone had come yet.

Kylo laid awake, watching Poe press down, biting his lip. His hair was dripping with sweat and blood. He must have picked the girl up. He must have found a medic, than ran straight off to Kylo. He must be chilled to bone with anxiety. Poe was handsome, and even more handsome when he was aching for his life.

“I could kill you right now.” Kylo mouthed, sputtering blood through his teeth.

“Yeah, well, a lot of things could kill me. You’re not special.” Poe said, glancing to the door and back. He leaned in, “You know you’re going to be killed for this? How many goddamned people did you just murder? What were you thinking? What the hell’s going on?”

“I could kill them all,”

Poe shook his head, “Not if no one comes to get you, you couldn’t.”

“It’s my purpose.”

His eyes went narrow, “Your purpose? _Your purpose?_ You’re dying for a lost cause, buddy! You think your goddamned partner wants you to do this? Do you?”

Kylo let his head hit the ground, the dark in the corners of his vision growing as the sound of footsteps approached. Poe’s hands were thrown off of him and he was wrenched off the ground, his own being pulled behind his back and wrapped in some kind of tape that hurt to move under. Thrown over the shoulder of a rebel, he blacked out.


End file.
